


Forged in the Crucible

by MissAnnThropic



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 22:35:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4683869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissAnnThropic/pseuds/MissAnnThropic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek barked out a laugh.  “If anyone’s the Jiminy Cricket of the pack, it’s Scott.  Stiles… if the pack’s in danger, I don’t think there’s any limits to what he would do.”  There was no doubt in Derek’s mind that there was a capacity in Stiles for dark acts in the name of saving his loved ones.  A cruelty and mercilessness that Scott could never dream of having.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forged in the Crucible

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: This fic started out as one thing and ended as something totally different. My Muse is insane.
> 
> Cross-posting: I do not consent to have my fics posted to other websites (such a Goodreads).

When Stiles’ human status came up at all, it was usually as an inconvenience. After years together, it had simply become their normal. They weren’t as swift as they could be because they always checked themselves to keep Stiles with them. They were never as strong as they might have been because they allocated their forces to make sure that they not only faced any enemies, but also protected Stiles.

No one thought of him as a liability, though. He might well be, but they didn’t think that way. He was pack. Adjusting everything they were to fit him among them was instinct. Derek would no sooner throw Erica off a cliff than drive Stiles out of the pack. 

Stiles might not have werewolf talents, but he had plenty of his own. More, this new pack had been stitched from scratch, and Stiles was woven into that. Trying to pull the thread of Stiles out of the new Hale pack would cause it all to unravel.

Stiles’ vulnerable humanity was just a part of them.

And in a way, it was good for them. They could never forget themselves. They could never lose sight of their humanity, because it was only by keeping that in mind that they could have Stiles with them safely.

Of course, it wasn’t always safe. No matter how much the pack tried. Everyone got hurt. When that happened, Stiles’ humanity was an open wound. The wolves healed and shook off the broken bones and gaping injuries like one would dust off dirt from their clothes, but Stiles didn’t. When he was hurt, it seemed to linger for ages. To Derek – born a wolf, never victim to natural healing timelines – it reeked of disease the way Stiles still limped, still colored in yellows and purples and greens, a week after an injury. Broken bones were even worse. They took _months_. Stiles broke his ankle once, and it was five months before his gait returned to normal. Derek had convinced himself the limp was going to be permanent.

Human though he may be, Stiles was resilient. He came back every time. In a way, it made him the bravest of them all. Because his wounds didn’t disappear in mere seconds. He suffered as the wolves could not. He was breakable, yet unyielding.

Humans in wolf packs were highly respected for that very reason. It took nothing to face a wolf pack’s enemies knowing very little _could_ bring you down. It took courage to face a wolf pack’s enemies when it took very little _to_ bring you down.

More than a treasured token, Stiles steadied the pack. The werewolves were all prone to fits of temper – during the full moon, in the midst of dominance disputes, in the grips of territorial displays – but Stiles kept a cool head. Plenty of times, it had saved theirs.

Over time, Stiles went from the tagalong nuisance human, Scott’s irritating plus one, to an essential part of any pack negotiations with outside parties.

Outside parties such as the powerful mage who was currently wandering around the rebuilt Hale house in the Beacon Hills preserve. Derek had tracked him down using some of his mother’s old contacts. That was enough for Derek to give Josiah Harkinsael the benefit of the doubt, but the rest of the pack was leery. Or perhaps it was that Stiles was wary, and the pack often reflected his emotional state, like Stiles was a human bellwether.

“I remember this place,” Josiah murmured half to himself as he surveyed the rebuilt house and the surrounding trees. The house Derek had built in place of his family home was smaller, to match his pack, but it had become home. Everyone had a room, the den was enormous for pack nights, and there were so many windows… to let in natural light, to afford a view of the trees, and so every room could be easily broken out of in the event of a fire. 

“It pains me to see the new in place of old,” Josiah lamented. He cast a rummy eye at Derek, who flinched at the comment.

“Yeah, well, the old was kind of uninhabitable,” Stiles chimed in, bristly and annoyed. “Any alpha worth a damn would have built a new home for his pack.”

Derek gave Stiles a stern ‘behave’ look, which Stiles defied with a jut of his chin.

Josiah turned to Stiles and gave him a shrewd look. “You’re a fiery one… I suppose that’s fitting of a spark.”

The look on Josiah’s face was not particularly friendly, and the wolves reacted. Scott, at Stiles’ side, moved in closer. Erica and Boyd came down off the porch, and Isaac looked worriedly between Stiles, Derek, and Josiah. He was obviously watching for a cue, and there was no question that if the cue was ‘fight’, then he would throw himself at the mage with claws out to protect Stiles. They all would.

“Oh, I see I’ve riled the pack,” Josiah chuckled with amusement. Chuckled like they were all children playing at being werewolves. Stiles narrowed his eyes.

“Stiles…” Derek warned.

“What? Put up with this guy’s shit because he’s supposedly great at wards?”

“In a word: _yes_ ,” Derek snarled.

Stiles scoffed. “Screw that. This pack has shed blood, sweat, and tears to be where we are today. I’ll be damned if I’m going to stand here and listen to this asshole talk down to us.”

“ _Stiles_ , for the love of…” Derek’s eyes turned skyward like he was asking for restraint to hold him back from doing Stiles bodily harm. When Derek looked back toward Stiles, they had an entire conversation with their eyes.

_Stiles: You agree with me._

_Derek: Of course I do, but zip it._

_Stiles: Make me._

_Derek: Don’t think I won’t lock you in your room until this is over._

_Stiles: You and what army?_

_Derek: My pack, you moron._

_Stiles: Even odds they’d side with me. Stale-mate, Hale._

Derek sighed and shook his head as he turned back to Josiah. “I’m…”

“Sorry?” Josiah asked with raised eyebrows.

Derek scowled. “No.”

To everyone’s surprise, Josiah laughed. “Honestly, I’m just having a bit of fun. Those of us with magic in us are a tetchy bunch – we tend to not like other _gifted_ individuals. It’s not surprising Stiles doesn’t like me.”

“Other…” Stiles gestured a moment, “what are we, Siamese fighting fish? One to a bowl, or there will be blood?”

“No…” Josiah smiled, a shade creepy, “not like fish. Like alpha werewolves.” When Derek startled a little at that, Josiah shrugged easily. “That’s just the way of things. I hope you didn’t aspire to collect sparks in your pack, because Stiles is going to react badly to all of them.”

“Stiles is the only spark we need,” Scott defended his friend.

“Of course… just like one alpha is all a pack needs. It’s a matter of balance.”

“Bad attitude, more like,” Stiles grumbled.

“ _Stiles_ ,” Derek beseeched, a silent ‘ _please_ ’ in his tone. Stiles held up his hands in surrender… for now.

“Fortunately for you,” Josiah moved off to take in more of the Hale property, “a spark in residence will make the wards stronger. Magic has a tendency to fade with time – that’s why the wards I put in place for your mother are no longer active – but Stiles being here should keep them powerful.”

“What, like feed off of him?” Scott frowned. “It’s not going to drain him, is it?”

“Not at all. Being what he is, Stiles always _leaks_ a little.”

“Dude, you make it sound like I’m incontinent,” Stiles griped.

Josiah’s mouth quirked in a near-smile. “Only your magic. I’m assuming. I really couldn’t speak to the state of your bladder or prostate.”

Stiles looked imploringly at Derek and gestured emphatically at Josiah as if to say ‘can I kill him, _please_?!’

“So the wards will feed on the magic Stiles bleeds,” Derek got the conversation back on track. “But it won’t hurt him, will it?”

“No.” A pause. “Well…”

“I knew it,” Stiles groaned. “There’s always a catch.”

Josiah shook his head. “You won’t be _harmed_ by the wards, but after they have used you to maintain themselves long enough, they will start to identify as yours – even though you weren’t the one to lay them – and a degree of feedback will start to happen.”

“Which means…?” Scott prompted.

“When an intruder activates the wards, Stiles will probably feel it,” Josiah answered.

Stiles blinked and went still. He looked to Derek first, then over at Scott. “That… actually sounds like a good thing.”

“Yeah, as far as side effects go, that’s pretty cool,” Scott agreed.

“So can we finally get on with warding our territory now?” Derek asked Stiles sarcastically.

Stiles took the request sincerely. “Yeah, you have my blessing.”

“Oh, well, _thank you_ , Mister Master of the Universe,” Derek replied drolly.

Stiles winked and clicked his tongue while cocking a finger-gun at Derek and bobbing his thumb for a trigger.

It looked like Derek was strenuously stopping himself from facepalming.

Despite the stranger in their midst getting everyone’s dander up, Scott and Isaac chuckled. Erica rolled her eyes with a crooked smile. Boyd looked off into the trees like he was hoping to spot another pack he could join.

Josiah looked pensive. “How long has this pack been together?” he asked Derek.

“Since they were all teenagers,” Derek grumbled. “So, like, five minutes ago.”

“Oh, screw you too, Derek,” Stiles countered cheekily. “We’re all in our twenties, thank you very much. Besides which, we get bonus year credits for what we’ve been through to get here. We _clawed_ our way here and you know it.” Stiles shot Josiah a challenging look.

“Insubordinate, isn’t he?” the mage queried.

“To the core,” Derek agreed.

“Hmmm… and you put up with that?”

Stiles squawked, but before he could speak up Derek did. “I’ve learned it’s better to just let him speak his mind. Besides,” Derek looked pointedly at Josiah, “he’s not wrong.”

That made Stiles silently preen.

Something blazing and wise glinted in Josiah’s eyes. “Forged in the crucible.”

Derek solemnly nodded, while the others stood a little taller. They were all young, yes, but not nearly as young as they looked. And they didn’t look nearly as young as they should. They were stable now, but it had been a hard fight to reach that point. The war – for it had been that – took its toll on all of them. It was in the looks behind their eyes that spoke of blood and battle. Derek was proud of every last one of them. He might bicker with them in turns (most often with Stiles), but he’d die for every last one of them. He trusted each of them with his life. They were _pack_.

“Talia would have been proud,” Josiah said lowly, and it felt like the ground was yanked out from under Derek’s feet. He blinked at the mage, speechless. He didn’t even realize Stiles had moved from his spot next to Scott until he was suddenly at Derek’s side. Then he was edging a shoulder in between Derek and Josiah, interposing himself between the two. 

That he was putting himself between an alpha werewolf and a powerful mage didn’t seem to faze Stiles at all. Typical.

“Look… you’re here because Talia Hale had a lot of respect for you,” Stiles said, and his tone had gone from overtly obnoxious to controlled and low. The pack had learned over the years that _that_ was when Stiles was dangerous. “This has always been Hale land. If we have anything to say about it, it will always _be_ Hale land. Are you willing to help us out with that or not?”

Josiah regarded Stiles a moment, and the pack collectively held its breath.

“Of course,” Josiah finally responded. He cocked his head. “I assure you, I have no interest in seeing the Hales toppled. They were a great pack.”

“We still are,” Stiles retorted.

“Glad to hear it.” Josiah tore his gaze from Stiles to look past him at Derek. “If you’d like to get started, I need you to walk the metes and bounds with me.”

“All right… follow me.”

**************

Josiah was quiet for the first hour of the trip walking the boundaries of the Hale property. Well, quiet in the sense that he was not speaking to Derek. He was chanting something, and from a bowl he carried with him a golden thread of light shimmered to the ground and trailed after them. Derek glanced back at the mage every so often, marveling at the line of light marking the borders of his territory.

Derek assumed the chanting was something that had to be continued throughout the process, so he startled when Josiah switched to conversation.

“Your pack is not what I was expecting.”

Derek looked back at the mage, at the bowl where the thread of light kept feeding out over the rim heedless of the missing chant, and shrugged. “What _did_ you expect? My family’s gone.” Derek scowled and walked a little faster.

“No, Derek, it’s not.”

The meaning was not lost on Derek, and he paused to turn and face the mage.

“I’ve seen tragedies like your family’s before.” Josiah urged Derek to keep walking so the light didn’t pool at their feet in a pile. “Packs decimated by hunters. And if three or four can escape with their lives, the pack can usually rebuild. But an entire family killed save one… that never ends well. I’ve seen more peaceful wolves become omegas and feral in your position than I want to admit. When I heard about what happened to the Hales, I expected that fate to befall you.”

Derek scowled silently.

“I almost called on one of my hunter contacts to come out here and put you down. As a kindness.”

Derek froze and stared at Josiah. “Is _that_ why the Argents moved to Beacon Hills the same time I did?”

“No. Well.” Josiah nudged him to keep walking. “Maybe, but not because I called them. That doesn’t mean someone else in a position of knowledge commensurate with mine didn’t call them.” Josiah and his magic bowl kept on spewing words and light. “You must understand the odds were stacked against you, Derek. By all accounts, you should have gone insane.”

Derek frowned. There had been times, in the beginning. When he realized Laura was dead and he was truly on his own. When he was suddenly an alpha with no pack and he thought he would go mad from the loneliness. No safety, no home, no pack. It felt like a test, or deprivation torture. He’d been too eager to bite, just to have others. It was luck, determination, and fortitude that made it work in the end.

“But here you stand… an alpha with a pack that stands with you.”

“It wasn’t easy,” Derek admitted.

Josiah laughed. “I don’t doubt it. But you did it. That’s what I meant when I said your mother would be proud.” 

Derek swallowed.

“Lesser wolves would have died.”

“That’s just as much a credit to them as me,” Derek answered, and inclined his head back the way they’d come, where his pack was waiting.

“Yes, they’re something.” A smirk quirked Josiah’s mouth. “Some more interesting than others.”

Derek huffed. He didn’t even have to ask. “Yeah, Stiles is… something _else_.”

Josiah did not mask his interest… or apparently fondness. “Do you realize how much his presence matters to your pack?”

As a matter of fact… “Yes.” He had his moments ( _plenty_ ) with Stiles, but on that count he was not stupid.

“He’s your conscience,” Josiah nodded sagely.

Derek barked out a laugh. “Oh god, _no_. If anyone’s the Jiminy Cricket of the pack, it’s Scott. Stiles… if the pack’s in danger, I don’t think there’s any limits to what he would do.” It would scare Derek if he wasn’t just as determined to protect his family. There was no doubt in Derek’s mind that there was a capacity in Stiles for dark acts in the name of saving his loved ones. A cruelty and mercilessness that Scott could never dream of having.

Josiah looked concerned. “You shouldn’t be so cavalier about this. That boy is powerful. If he could turn, if he became a darach…”

“He won’t.” Derek paused. “Not unless we were all killed. If _that_ happened…” Derek stopped. His mother had trusted Josiah, and he trusted his mother’s judgment, but even still. A knee-jerk drive to protect Stiles snapped his jaws shut.

“Derek…”

“We’re his anchor,” Derek said. “Every last one of us. Humans don’t actually have anchors, I know, but Stiles does. Maybe because he’s a spark or whatever, but it’s true. He has anchors, and he’s _the_ anchor. The pack’s. We all look to him for stability.”

“That may not be wise of you,” Josiah cautioned. “If you question his motives…”

“But we _don’t_ , that’s the _point_.” Derek huffed and tried to think of how to explain it. “Stiles is steadfast. We all get distracted now and then, lose our focus and forget what really matters. But not Stiles. He is always looking out for the best interest of the pack. Even when it’s something none of us want to hear. He’s single-minded when it comes to keeping us safe. No matter what. Even if it means the rest of the world burns.” Maybe that was dangerous and ill-advised, but Derek would not have Stiles be any other way.

Josiah was quiet a long time after that, and Derek was fine with that.

“Does he know?” the mage asked at length.

Derek snorted. “He’d never let me hear the end of it if he knew it all. But he knows enough. He knows he’s important.”

“It may be wise that he never know the power he holds over the pack,” Josiah warned.

Derek agreed, but only insofar as he did not want to hear the gloating. Stiles was an odd mixture of self-doubt and arrogance, and finding out he had such a high rank in the pack would make him insufferable. He challenged Derek’s authority enough as it was already. He did _not_ agree on the grounds that Stiles was dangerous. Because there was no part of Derek that feared Stiles. Feared for those foolish enough to threaten his pack, but even then not really.

Derek liked to think that between himself and Stiles, there was no enemy they could not defeat. It was a powerful belief. Maybe he should be scared, but his entire family had burned to death once. He wasn’t about to lose another, no matter what.

When they got back to the house, Stiles and Scott were the only ones still there. Both young men were sitting on the porch steps waiting for them. To Derek’s unspoken question when he approached them, Scott chimed in, “We were all getting kind of antsy so Erica, Isaac, and Boyd decided to patrol the territory.” It was unspoken that the only reason Scott hadn’t joined them was because they would not leave their human packmate unguarded with a stranger on their land.

“I’m surprised you were able to make Stiles stay put,” Derek mused.

“Ha ha,” Stiles said sarcastically and waved his cell phone. “Keeping Lydia up-to-date via text message is a full-time job. I still say if you decide to go out-of-state for college, you forfeit knowing the minutiae of the pack.” Stiles pocketed the phone and jumped to his feet. “So… what next?”

“You may need to call the rest of the pack back,” Josiah answered, “because I’m afraid the next part is a bit harder to come by.”

“What?” Derek said. “What do you mean? Wasn’t that, with the light,” he gestured at the bowl in the mage’s arms, brimming with a golden glow like luminescent ramen noodle soup, “wasn’t that the ward?”

Josiah gave him a kind smile. “Derek… that was just spell work. Any half-decent magician could do that. The last ingredient to make these truly powerful wards is a bit trickier… and a bit of riddle, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, I hate riddles,” Scott whined.

“It’s okay, Scotty,” Stiles patted his head like a dog. “We’ve got this. If we really need to engage some brainpower, we’ll call Lydia. So,” he looked to the mage, “let’s have it.”

“The final step is to use this,” he lifted the bowl of light, “and paint on the memories of the struggles to protect the lands.”

Derek, Stiles, and Scott looked between each other, perplexed.

“What does that mean?” Scott asked.

“Well, if I told you, it wouldn’t be a riddle, would it?” Josiah countered.

Derek growled. “What did my mother do for this part?”

Josiah sighed. “I can’t tell you, because I don’t know what this means for your pack. It is something different for everyone. Whatever the answer is for _you_.”

“Paint on the memories…” Scott mused aloud. “How can you _paint_ on a memory? It’s something ephemeral.”

“Hey, look at you, you still remember those SAT words,” Stiles punched Scott playfully and proudly on the shoulder. Scott looked torn between pleased with himself and distraught at the puzzle before them. Stiles dropped his eyes to the ground and chewed on the side of his thumbnail, thinking.

Derek was just about to turn and call back Erica, Boyd, and Isaac to get them to work on the riddle, too, when Stiles looked up quickly. “ _Scars_.”

Everyone looked at Stiles.

“Scars,” Stiles repeated. “Those are physical memories of the crap we’ve gone through to defend our home.”

Josiah looked pleased.

Scott looked even more distressed as he turned his puppy-eyes on Derek. “But we don’t _have_ scars.”

At that, Stiles sighed. Then he set his jaw and peeled off his shirt.

Stiles didn’t parade around half-dressed like the werewolves did. Derek always assumed it was part of his self-doubt, in this case about his body. And it was unfair to expect a human to compete with the natural physique and athleticism of werewolves. Even when they went swimming, he wore a shirt. Erica teased him a little, but for the most part that was just Stiles. An accepted and unquestioned part of his personality. Stiles didn’t do half-naked, and the wolves were fine with that.

The thing was… Derek wasn’t _unaware_ that Stiles got hurt. He was all too aware of it, because he was usually holding the human’s flesh together while Scott drove them to his mom for medical care.

It was just that Derek never really thought about what remained behind after Stiles finished recuperating. He guessed he always assumed the injuries eventually healed completely – like theirs, but just slower.

But they _didn’t_. And Derek felt dumbstruck and kicked in the gut at all once as he stared at Stiles’ torso. It was covered in scars. Silvery-white claw marks down his chest, brown tooth marks from a beta bite on his side, a spade-shaped red mark on his shoulder from an arrow, a raised brand from a phoenix on his sternum… that and others, smaller, but when Derek saw them he remembered every one. Every time Stiles had brushed off the wound, slunk home to get better, and came back like nothing was wrong. Like he wasn’t carrying the badge of every war on his skin.

Stiles looked both self-conscious and proud of his scars, holding his shirt in one hand anxiously like he wanted to use it to cover himself up, but also looking Josiah dead in the eye and _owning_ the years of conflict he wore like a map.

Scott looked upset. He probably knew about them. He’d probably been complicit in keeping the rest of the pack from finding out about them. He was ready to keep up that act, even with the riddle’s damning answer. He was that loyal to his best friend.

And Scott looked guilty, as if he’d inflicted every wound.

Derek knew the feeling. Stiles had gotten those scars because of _him_.

Josiah stepped toward Stiles with the bowl of light. “This will actually work out quite well. That the final binding is done through you will accelerate the time it will take the wards to adhere to you.”

“Yippee,” Stiles answered sarcastically.

Josiah smirked. Then he stopped and looked back at Derek. “Do I have your permission to continue?”

When the question was met with silence, Stiles lifted his head to look toward Derek. He found the alpha staring at his scarred body and flinched. “Dude…”

Derek tore his eyes away. “Just… do it.”

He could hardly stand to watch Josiah dip a finger into the bowl and trace Stiles’ scars in golden light. He watched the liquid light start to run down Stiles’ chest from the painted claw scars and remembered that night, when Stiles had dripped red instead of gold. Stiles had been laid up in bed for a few days, then he’d been bitching about stitches for weeks, then itchy scabs, then tenderness, but Derek never really thought about what came after _that_. He didn’t think about what was left behind when Stiles was healed, once he was back to fighting alongside them. He jumped back on the front lines every time, so how bad could it have been?

 _Bad_.

“Hey.” Derek startled at Scott’s voice right beside him. The beta gave him a thin smile. “I know it’s hard to look at,” he said in a whisper, “but it’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad?” Derek parroted incredulously. “Scott, _look at him_.”

Scott winced and Stiles looked up from watching Josiah work, his expression shuttering darkly before he looked away again.

“Dude,” Scott glowered and continued to whisper, “don’t be an asshole. He feels bad enough about looking like a chew toy without you being shitty about it.”

“I… what?” Derek frowned. He matched Scott’s whisper. “You think I’m mad because of how he _looks_?”

“Aren’t you?”

“ _No_. Well, _yes_ , but… not like _that_.”

Scott gave him a confused look. “Whatever, man, just… be considerate of the fact that he’s really self-conscious about how it looks. He’s barely old enough to drink and looks like he’s done hard time. Or been in a war zone.” Scott looked physically pained. “I know you’ve never been human, so you have no idea what it’s like to have a cut be permanent, but don’t you dare make him feel worse.”

“Make him feel… you don’t get it at all, do you?”

Scott scrunched up his face. “No, I guess not. Maybe you should explain it to me.”

“Jesus, Scott, I shouldn’t even _have_ to… we had no business letting that happen to him.”

Scott seemed to get it then. His defensive scowl vanished and he dropped his eyes from his alpha’s gaze and glanced toward Stiles. He winced in sympathy at his scars. “As if we could have stopped him.”

They _should have_. He was a walking human billboard of how much the pack had endured. The wolves all shook it off, but Stiles lived with the memories every time he looked in a mirror.

Stiles was resolutely keeping his eyes on Josiah as he worked, refusing to look up at Derek. His face was flushed and he reeked of shame and embarrassment.

Scott leaned closer. “You should really let him know you don’t think he looks like a monster.”

“Are you serious?”

Scott gave him a death-glare. “ _Yes_ , I’m serious.”

Before Derek could say anything else, Scott left his side to return to Stiles. Stiles gave Scott a fleeting look, strained but relieved all at once. Scott clapped him on the shoulder and shot Derek another pointed stare.

“That should do it,” Josiah finally declared and stepped back from Stiles. His upper body was all pale skin, moles, and shimmering gold. “Now, you may want to brace yourself for this next part. When I finish the incantation, the wards will flare to life, and since you’re part of the spell… it may be intense.”

“Great,” Stiles muttered. “Bend your knees, turn your head and cough. Fine.” He reached out for Scott and held on to him. “Okay, do it.”

Josiah resumed the chant Derek heard him using in the woods, then veered from the repetitive words and spoke new ones. The golden light on Stiles grew suddenly brighter, Derek felt every inch of his territory like suddenly his skin was several square miles in area, and Stiles gave a yelp and dropped to his knees.

Derek started forward immediately, but in the next second the light faded, the feeling like Derek was miles long and wide disappeared, and Stiles was waving him off. “I’m fine! It’s fine. That was… _dude_ , intense was a gross understatement. You could have said ‘for a nanosecond you’ll feel like a human torch’ to prepare me for _that_. Did you study at the school of Deaton or something?”

“It’s done,” Josiah proclaimed. The bowl in his arms was no longer glowing.

“Awesome,” Stiles struggled back to his feet with Scott’s help. “So, do I have to leave this on or…”

“It’s served its purpose, you can bathe any time you wish.”

“Fantastic. Scott, give me my shirt.” He’d dropped it when the spell took hold. In the next breath, Stiles had shrugged back into his shirt. The liquid had dulled from golden to a honey-brown that oozed through the shirt, but Stiles was not about to stand around half-naked when Erica, Boyd, and Isaac came back.

Which they did moments later. “Did you guys feel that?!” Erica asked excitedly. Isaac was like a kid on Christmas morning. Even Boyd looked amazed.

The only one who looked like he hadn’t been bowled over by the wards snapping into place was Scott, who had been too utterly focused on Stiles at the time.

“Happy to help,” Stiles plucked at his shirt. “Now if you don’t mind, I need a shower.” With that, he turned and marched up into the house.

Derek watched after him, scowling. An uncomfortable sensation had taken up residence in his bones, and it was not the wards Josiah Harkinsael had created.

**************

Derek waited until well after dark, when everyone had gone to bed, before he crept up the stairs and down the hall toward Stiles’ room. Everyone in the pack had a room in the Hale house. They had not all moved in at once. Isaac moved in immediately, glad to finally have a home again. Erica and Boyd moved in after graduating high school. Next was Stiles, who had proclaimed it time to leave the nest of his father’s house, but he didn’t want to go far (‘and it seems stupid to rent an apartment when I’ve got a free room at Chateau Hale’ he’d argued). Not that he needed an excuse, as far as Derek was concerned. They were pack. Family. They belonged there, in Derek’s mind. With Stiles in residence, it wasn’t long before Scott moved into the house.

Derek knew better than to think it would last. They were all bitten wolves. They’d had plans and dreams before they became part of a pack that they might not want to give up. Like Lydia. Not even the supernatural turn her life had taken could deter her from her dream school on the east coast. Her room stood empty and waiting for her. Derek knew some of the others, maybe all of them, could leave one day. But for as long as he’d have them, he enjoyed having a full house.

He reached the door to Stiles’ room and knocked softly.

“Yeah.”

Derek eased open the door and poked his head in. Stiles was lying on his bed with his cell phone in hand, illuminating his face. He looked over at Derek and smirked. “Well, it took long enough, but look who finally managed doors and knocking.”

“I’ve been knocking before walking in on you for years,” Derek countered. An old joke with them. He frowned. “Can I talk to you?”

Stiles scowled. “Do we really need to?”

“Yeah, I think we do.” He entered the room and closed the door behind him.

Stiles sighed, sat up, and tossed his phone aside. “What’s up, o alpha, my alpha?”

“Knock it off, Whitman, I’m being serious.”

“When _aren’t_ you?” Stiles seemed to wilt in place. “Look… I know what you’re going to say.”

“Do you?”

Stiles shrugged stiffly. “Though I’m not really sure what you hope to accomplish with this little chat.” He gestured between them awkwardly, then at his own clothed chest. “It’s… I know it’s bad. Okay? But it’s not a big deal. I keep my shirt on, so no one has to look at it. Believe me, I don’t want to look at it, either. So… good talk, good night?”

Derek scowled and stepped closer. “Stiles…” he began, then stopped. He didn’t like looking down at Stiles; he didn’t like looming over him. Some alphas might enjoy it. Some might require it of their subordinates. Derek didn’t like having Stiles on a separate level from him. He gestured silently for Stiles to stand.

Stiles did wordlessly. It was in the strangest moments when Stiles would follow orders without talking back. He got to his feet, took a step closer to Derek, and just looked him in the eye. He’d ended up being about an inch taller than Derek when he finished growing, which was still surprising at times. Derek thought of them as equal in so many ways that Stiles having height on him could still surprise him.

“Scott has this stupid idea that you feel like I think you look like a monster.”

Stiles winced. “Well, dude, have you seen Frankenstein? I mean, I haven’t had someone try to slit my throat, so I’m missing that iconic scar, so it’s not _exactly_ accurate, but…”

“Stop. Stiles, you’re smarter than that.”

“Smarter than what?”

“Only one of us in this room could be called a monster, and it’s not you.”

Anger flared in Stiles’ eyes. “Well, it sure as hell isn’t _you_.”

Derek lifted his eyebrows and deliberately let his eyes go red.

“Oooo, you can do the glowy thing with your eyes, I’m so scared,” Stiles waved his hands insolently. “No. I worked too long and too hard to get that idea out of Scott’s head when he first turned, and I am not doing it again with you, so just _don’t_.”

“I won’t if you won’t.”

Stiles froze with mouth open about to speak, eyes wide. He swallowed and licked his lips. “That’s… not really the same thing.”

“You’re right, it’s not. I’m still a werewolf. You’re just scarred.”

Stiles scoffed. “Man, you make it sound so inconsequential. It’s not. You saw. I am _beyond_ scarred.”

“And for that I’m sorry.”

Stiles looked up then, puzzled. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Yes, it is. I may not have done it myself, but it was my fault.”

Stiles groaned and rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m not going to play the blame game with you. One, because it’s stupid and no you didn’t. Two, because it doesn’t change anything. I’m still…” he gestured at his chest again in defeat.

“Take your shirt off.”

Stiles drew up short at that. “What?”

“I want to see them.”

Stiles took a half-step back. “You already did.”

“Please.”

Stiles stood his ground a moment, defiant. Then he seemed to give up and pulled off his shirt. The scars were uglier up close. Derek could see the jagged edges, the places where Stiles’ skin rippled or puckered from healing a little wrong. Derek’s eyes lingered on the four claw marks raked down Stiles’ chest. He remembered that day. He’d torn that werewolf apart for that.

Derek lifted a hand to touch the scar but stopped just shy, close enough to feel the heat of Stiles’ skin but not the texture of it. “You shouldn’t feel like you have to hide this.”

“Kind of think of it as a public service,” Stiles answered weakly.

“No. This is your courage.”

“Actually, it’s my weak, breakable humanness,” Stiles joked.

“And you fight anyway, in spite of it. These are marks of bravery, Stiles. Wear them.”

Stiles looked down at his scars and chewed on his bottom lip. “It’s not just that I don’t dig looking like a gnarly old couch.”

“Then what is it?”

Stiles looked up at him through his lashes, uneasy about what he had to say. “You all have them, too. You just can’t see yours.”

Derek dropped his hand uncomfortably.

“We don’t have enough good days,” Stiles continued, “and I don’t want seeing me to be a reminder of the bad times.”

That left Derek consternated. Because he got that. He felt the compulsion to look after the pack just as much as Stiles did. He left so much of his life unsaid because it would bring down the pack. He kept so much of himself private because they didn’t deserve that burden. He’d made his demons, and he’d deal with them alone.

“Plus I really, _really_ don’t feel like trying to compete with this pack of rocking bodies,” Stiles chuckled dryly. “I mean, losing battle from the get-go. No thank you. I’ll cloak my skinny, lily-white ass in shame and let the rest of you all prance around with your perfect abs and muscles. Please, do not set me up to be compared to any of you freaking werewolves.”

Derek huffed a laugh.

Stiles smiled. Then he rubbed the back of his neck. “Look… I get what you’re saying about my scars. I do.”

“So you’ll stop being ashamed of them?”

Stiles hesitated. “I can promise I’ll try. It’s not as easy as snapping my fingers, you know.” He scratched at the crescent of teeth marks on his ribs absently. “They aren’t going anywhere, and they are _literally_ disfiguring.”

“They’re…” Derek started to say, then stopped himself. Because he was about to say something like ‘beautiful’. Because they were proof of how much Stiles loved his pack. He shouldn’t have had to suffer and bleed so much for it, but he’d done it time and again because they were family, and Stiles would raze the world to the ground for his family.

As a born werewolf, Derek responded to that.

Without thinking, Derek lifted his hand again and laid the tips of his fingers gently against the white scars left by the claws of another wolf. He tracked the path they carved down Stiles’ chest thoughtfully.

Stiles sucked in a breath and the spice of arousal wafted up from his skin. “Careful,” Stiles whispered hoarsely.

And Derek knew what he meant. It was the inevitable. The someday. It was them. They had never talked about it, but the wonderful thing about Stiles and Derek was that they didn’t need to. They both knew they were going to be good together. Amazing. But they both had things to work out on their own, because once they happened it was going to be forever. They were it. Endgame. They couldn’t afford to get it wrong.

And that future on the horizon might also have something to do with Stiles’ shame about his body. Because he was imagining the day when he would lay with Derek, all unblemished skin and muscle, while all Stiles had to offer was marred flesh. As if Derek _cared_ that Stiles wasn’t perfect. As if the scars on his body even _compared_ to the blue of Derek’s eyes before he’d become an alpha.

Derek saw more than his scars when he looked at Stiles. Just like Stiles saw more than Derek’s past when he looked at the last remaining Hale.

Derek dropped his hand but couldn’t resist swaying closer, practically cheek to cheek with Stiles, and breathing in his scent.

Stiles sighed and twitched like he wanted to reach for Derek. He just barely held himself back.

Derek smiled. ‘Someday’ was turning into ‘soon’.

“Maybe I need to start with being okay with just one member of the pack seeing me half-naked,” Stiles mused aloud. “You know… work up to the whole pack one at a time.”

“That’s a good idea.”

“It is?”

Derek hummed. “Yeah.” He paused. “Does Scott know he’s in for a lot of awkward no-shirt parties?”

Stiles snorted and pushed at Derek’s chest to back him off a step. “You’re such an ass.”

Derek chuckled and stepped back. As he did, he looked Stiles up and down. Stiles tried to stand still, but the look made him uncomfortable and he started to fidget.

“Just so you know,” Derek said at length, “there’s nothing here to be ashamed of.” He was scarred, yes. But he’d grown into himself nicely. He might not have the buff body of a werewolf, but he was all lean muscle. And between the scars and the moles and the birthmarks, not an inch of him was uninteresting.

Stiles flushed and worried the claw marks on his chest with his fingers.

“Chicks dig scars, right?” Derek teased.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Too bad I’m not really interested in impressing _chicks_.”

“Well, you already know what I think of them.”

Stiles grinned.

The sight made Derek’s whole body light up. He had to leave the room before he went too far too soon.

One day in the near future, there would be no such thing as too far with them.

That mage had no idea how dangerous Derek and Stiles were going to be. Derek and Stiles were a formidable team when they loved their pack. They were going to be unstoppable when they were in love with each other.

Scars and all.

END


End file.
